


Inside and Out

by m_class



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_class/pseuds/m_class
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Seven and Naomi touring the ship at night.<br/>Leola root storage, viewports, and a little exploration of the relationships the ship's newest residents have to the world inside and outside Voyager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside and Out

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Voyager Autumn Flash Ficlet Exchange, (which was hecka fun, guys, thanks to everyone who participated!)

“Eeeeeee!” A small purple blur shoots past Seven of Nine as she is heading towards Cargo Bay 2 and her waiting alcove. Ensign Samantha Wildman follows at an exhausted half-jog.

“Baby, it’s time for bed.”

“But Mommy, I have too much energy!”

Seven reverses course. “Ensign Wildman. I have a final check of the mess hall storage facility to conduct before beginning regeneration. If Naomi Wildman would like to accompany me, we will return to your quarters after she no longer has—” she raises an eyebrow— “‘too much energy.’”

“Oh, Seven, you don’t have to.”

Seven interprets the relieved hope in her colleague’s eyes as acquiescence despite the polite protest.

“I’m going with Seven?!” Naomi reappears in a flash.

“Yes, baby. But _be good._ No running.”

Naomi is halfway to Seven’s side when she wheels around to face her mother again. “Crewman Jor said they’re going to see a dark nebula we’re going to get to tomorrow. Can I go with them? Please?”

Samantha smiles. “No away missions for you yet. I’m sure when you’re older, you’ll be the best nebula surveyor we have.”

Seven of Nine gazes down at Naomi as Voyager’s only child trots along beside her, pouting forgotten in mere seconds. Naomi is, she reflects, unique. Despite having witnessed more of its dangers firsthand than almost any other human child, she has no fear of flinging herself into space. Outer space is simply her world. Hazardous phenomena and enemy ships are to her as fast-moving ground vehicles were to Seven when she was small and lived on Earth—natural dangers of her environment, nothing more.

“I thought Neelix kept all the food in his kitchen pantry! Is this where he keeps secret food? Is it a _secret_ pantry? I’ve never seen it yet!”

If the universe is Naomi’s world, Seven realizes, Voyager is her hometown, intimately familiar and yet filled with more wonders than she has yet discovered. In this too she is unique among Voyager’s crew. The only other individual who bears such obvious love for the ship is Captain Janeway, and even she loves the vessel in part for its ability to carry her home. Naomi is already there.

Seven strides to the storage pantry door and waits for her entry to be authorized, finding herself surprisingly gratified at the chance to introduce Naomi to a new corner of her home.

***

Naomi stares up at the darkness of the shelves. “That’s _all food?_ ”

“Have you spent time in the hydroponics bay with your mother?”

Naomi nods, trying to read the labels on the containers at eye level. These boxes are plainer and uglier than Neelix’s painted jars.

“Le—leola root!”

“Yes. Unlike a wholly replicator-supplied vessel, Voyager depends on the products of the hydroponics bay, as well as barter with alien civilizations. Surplus comestibles must be kept both secure and within reach of the mess hall.”

“Acs—asc—”

Seven squats beside her to read the canister. “Ascorbic acid. A preservative.”

“Oh.”

Naomi studies Seven as she straightens to her feet, running the tricorder over an unmarked container and making a note on a PADD. Thinking about the dark nebula Crewman Jor is so excited to visit, she wonders if Seven misses the time before she lived on Voyager, when she went all over the place being a drone. Her life in the Borg was probably more interesting than checking on ascorbic acid. But also scarier.

Voyager is really safe, because Captain Janeway and Lieutenant Tuvok and Harry and Tom and Naomi’s mom are all making sure they don’t get hurt. But sometimes when Naomi is walking beside Seven in the corridors, people will look the other way instead of saying hi to her. Naomi hates it when that happens more than anything else in the universe. She wants to say hi to Seven a million billion times to make up for it. But she doesn’t, because she thinks maybe Seven would be sad if she knew Naomi knew some people on Voyager could be mean.

***

Age is not a distinguishing characteristic to her. Not as such. To one such as herself, the ages of organisms are, as Seven of Nine would phrase it, irrelevant. But there are…effects of age, and those…those distinguish beings from each other.

Naomi Wildman is the youngest of her passengers, and the love they share is like no other. As Naomi tugs Seven toward the viewport of the darkened mess hall, the love she feels for the ship beneath her feet rings through every footfall, unconditional trust flowing from her with every breath.

“I just want to look at the stars _one_ more time.”

“The stars will still be here when you awake.” But Seven acquiesces.

Seven of Nine isn’t any one age. Young and grown in contrasting fits and starts, a being interrupted, years piled onto her from the outside in, then ripped back to growing from the inside out again. The ship carrying her can sympathize. Voyager is such a young starship, the few components protected from battle still shiny and years away from replacement, yet torn farther into the unknown than ships many times her age, and having faced six short years packed with a century’s worth of damages, repairs, and evolution.

As Naomi raises a small hand and presses it against the viewport, Voyager feels the tiny brush of fingers against pane. After a few moments, Seven slowly reaches out her hand, laying it tentatively beside Naomi’s. Naomi’s gaze doesn’t move, but her mouth curls up at the corners. They stand together, poised between inner space and outer, the woman still uncertain of her place in either and the girl who unreservedly loves both.

After several minutes, Naomi yawns, drooping against the glass. Seven bends to lift her into her arms, but not before Naomi gives the glass a final sleepy poke, as though, if she were only awake enough to do the job properly, she could reach out and touch the stars.


End file.
